too young to die
by AmzyD
Summary: A series of drabbles focusing on the struggles of various characters, including Lily, James, Sirius and Harry.
1. Baby Harry

**Baby Harry **

They had an argument one day.

It was a bright day, the sun was shining brilliantly into their little cottage; light seeping into all corners of the home, reflecting of metal and warming their chairs. Harry giggled as he played with his toys, the sun radiating his back through the thick glass window.

In the other room, however, the mood was rather different. At one side stood she, her back to him as she stared out of the window, warm tears staining her pink and blotchy cheeks.

He was sat on the chair furthest from her, his knuckles digging into his head as he sat bent over.

"We've been inside too long," he finally croaked, as though the sun had dried his throat shut.

Her eyes flashed furiously as she blinked back hot tears of frustration. "You think I don't know that?" Her voice was sharp as ice.

"Lily," he said softly, approaching her now, "I'm sorry for suggesting it…I didn't mean it, honestly."

But Lily was having none of it. She spun round furiously to face him, her fiery warm hair whipping at his face as she did so.

Little did she know how his heart broke as he caught sight of her tears.

"No you're right," she spat sarcastically, "going out is a great idea! You might aswell just present Harry to Voldemort whilst you're at it!"

"I would never, ever… Don't even say that Lily." His voice grew hard then, but he still reached his thumb forward to wipe a tear away.

She looked at him for a moment, taking in his worried lines and the colour the sun made his eyes; a deep entrancing gold.

"I'm sorry," she blurted as tears dropped anew, "I'm so so sorry," she breathed heavily before burying herself in his chest, sobbing profusely.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, the pain on his face so strange on a young man.

They stood there for minutes, her sobbing and him holding. When she finally pulled away from his embrace, her eyes swollen and face red, she was silenced by his face. To both her surprise and horror, he had tears rolling down his cheeks too.

And when he gave her that crooked smile, her heart broke too.

Harry had abandoned his toys and was sitting in silence. He had heard his mothers cries emitting from the other room, and although he was too little to understand, it made him quite upset.

He stated outside at the long grass, as rays of the sun ran along its blades, painting it the most lustrous green.

With a gurgle, he pressed his chubby fist to the warm glass, reaching out with a yearn to feel the outside


	2. Pride of Gryffindor

**Pride of Gryffindor **

Look at you, you are so broken now, defenseless and torn and there are tears in your eyes.

James Potter you are the face of bravery, the pride of Gryffindor, look at you now as you stand up to face him, fear glistening upon your face.

You think of them in a mere second, all of your friends and your past. Sirius Black, how much you need him and he needs you. Remember those sunny days you spent in your backyard? The smell of your mothers baking drifting through the open windows? Where did those days go?

And what about Remus, can you leave him too? Shunned by the world, a creature subject to hate and abuse, what use will you be to him once dead?

And where did you go wrong with Peter? All the jokes, you see them now. His face blotched up, pink and red as you sent him some nasty remark.

And what about Lily, your darling wife whom you love and adore and cherish. Her pink cheeks and long red hair and eyes that send your pulse rate flying. Where was she now? The woman who you spent years pining after, the little girl who had her hair in plaits and ponytails? She was upstairs, fleeing with your child, in desperate danger and it's all your fault.

Your child, Harry, you love him more than you ever thought your love could extend. His messy hair and green eyes and baby faced grin. You would sometimes look at him and your knees would go weak and your heart would burst because look at you, look at what you've made.

But look at what you've done. A cruel laugh punctures your thoughts and it is decided. You will face death with arms open and a courage in your brace because look at you, James Potter, look at who you're leaving behind. A step forward and a flash of green and it is over, James Potter, you are gone and it is done. You are a sacrifice and you would gladly sacrifice yourself again.

Sirius, Remus, Lily, Harry, every Wizard and every Witch to grace mankind… oh how proud they are of you, James Potter.


	3. Mere seconds to mourn

**Mere Seconds to Mourn**

One moment he is there - very much alive and very much in front of you. His eyes are alight with laughter, his skin warm and his touch soft against you. A fire crackling gently in the middle of the room, painting the walls and peaceful golden hue.

His glasses slide down his nose as he talks vigorously, explaining some joke or other as you hold Harry gently on your knee. Harry gurgles contentedly at the soothing low grumble of his father's voice as he tugs at a lock of your hair.

You're staring into his face, you feel nothing but happiness and warmth and safety as you look at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his glasses as he surveys you with a crooked grin.

But then all of a sudden, you're plunged into darkness.

The creaking of a gate, the whisper of an old fire and then the almighty crash of a door.

And now he's telling you to run.

So you run. You hold Harry as tightly as you can and you run up the stairs. But your chest constricts as you catch sight of the chairs which you so recently sat on. Lying on it, emanated by stray moonlight which peaked through the curtain, lay James' wand.

And then your world falls apart because you know it's too late but your heart beats on and you're breathing too heavily, panting and sweating, you are cold and you are numb and you can do nought but run.

And by the time you reach the top of the landing, you have heard his final valiant cries.

A single tear rolls down your cheek. As you hear the croaky footsteps ascend the stairs, you know you have mere seconds to mourn.


	4. Azkaban

**Azkaban**

It was a dark day. It always was in Azkaban. The skies were painted a deep grey with eternal black clouds scattered across it haphazardly.

Sirius Black twitched in his sleep. It was his 855th day there, little did he know. Sirius had spent 855 days in one cell; the same grey walls, the same cracks on the floor, the same pattern on his clothes. Miraculous it was that he had managed to sleep at all.

A roar of thunder ripped through the skies above him as harsh rain slapped the roof of the prison. Sirius continued to sleep, unfazed by the horrendous weather which had become a normality for him.

As he slept, Sirius dreamt. He dreamt of himself spread on a beach, his back grazing against warm, golden grains of sand. The cool waves licked gently at his feet. He opened his eyes to be met with the vision of a young red headed woman who was being dragged to the water by her messy haired companion. Sirius sighed contentedly.

When he finally awoke, he groaned with foreboding apprehension. His first dream in months, and the Dementors would be gleeful in ripping it from him.

Sure enough they approached minutes later, Sirius moaned as the familiar icy sensation tightened his body and the terrible creatures fed of his soul.

Lightening tore through the sky and illuminated his cell, depicting him as he rocked back and forth, his face hidden behind dirty long hair as broken memories of waves and sand flitted through his mind.

Sirius Black did not know that in just few months time, he would dream his last peaceful dream. He did not know that in a years time, he would slowly begin to forget the faces of his beloved friends, only to be replaced by images of hurt and regret.

Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban approximately ten years after his 855th day. But his true self had escaped long before that date.


	5. Stiches

**Stiches**

She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry and scream and push him and hit him. She wanted the tears to cascade down her cheeks in bitter agony, releasing agonising amounts of grief which was bottled up inside her. She wanted something, anything.

But the tears did not come. She merely sat on their couch in their small cottage and stared at the blank wall ahead, stony faced. A clock ticked somewhere in the distance. Time passed, but who knew how much of it.

Her skin was pale, much too pale than it should have been for a woman of nineteen years. Her green eyes, usually bright and warm and full of depth, were reduced to mere blank pits, a reflection of the tumultuous emotions within.

She heard the kitchen table creak as a chair scratched the floor with a dreadful noise that resounded around their entire home, their entire world. Footsteps.

James appeared in the doorway, his hair uncharacteristically tame, as though it had been pressed down by the weighty hands of a depressed man. His eyes, usually alight with mischief and love, were a dim brown. His face was ashen and grey and full of pain as he stared anywhere but at her.

It was almost as though if he did stare at her, if he took in her sunken expression and deflated morale, he would have to accept her change. He would have to believe that she was indeed as stricken with sadness as him.

But he couldn't accept that. Anything but that. Because he loved her, his heart ached for her smile, her happiness, her laughter and her cheer.

But how could they be happy? How could they break their faces into smiles as their world crumbled from beneath their feet? People being killed left right and centre, a raging war going on outside that seemed to envelope their cosy little home into something devastatingly grim.

It was when a car roared down the road, piercing their silence with its wheels crunching against the stone path, that their eyes met.

And it was electric; the sense of fear in her eyes mingled with an unbearable pang for comfort. His face, a picture of need, his eyes telling her, telling her that all he wanted was for her to be happy and him to be the one to make her that way.

So with a jerk he was snapped within himself, he felt a range of a emotions, he felt as though he was a schoolboy again and they were curled up by the fire in the common room, encased by the warmth and protection that Hogwarts provided.

She thought of his face and how broken it was. Oh, how she yearned to mend him, to stitch up his soul back together with laughter and happiness and memories and all of the things they shared once before.

So he stepped towards the couch and they finally touched. They rested there for a while, hours which felt like days, and together they built their own protection and their own support. Together they wove a beautiful pattern, stitching each other as though that was what they were born to do.


	6. White Cliffs of Dover

**the white cliffs of dover**

The sea was calm beneath the white cliffs of Dover as sunshine gleamed against its waves. The beach was bright and the sand was rough and warm as it slid between their toes.

Lily clasped his hand as they strolled in perfect silence, the salty sea spray humidified her hair as it blew in the gentle breeze. James squeezed her hand every now and then, his touch reassuring and firm. His hair too was affected by the atmosphere; it was soft and thick and dusted with the smallest crystals of salt.

Lily yearned to reach up and run her hands through it. But she decided to ask him a question instead.

"Why here?" She was curious, they had stopped walking when James abruptly halted and decided to sit down.

"Dover?" He squinted his eyes against the bright glare as he looked at his sun-kissed fiancé. "I used to go to France often as a child. We'd take the ferry," he pointed at the misshapen blur of vessels in the distance.

"But… why here, right now… New Year's Eve?" She was curious, staring intently into his eyes whilst simultaneously playing with his fingers.

He shrugged, kicking some sand with his feet. "It's always felt like a safe place for me, I guess." He shrugged again in attempt to sound nonchalant.

Lily knew better. "We can't escape any of this…" her voice was sharp but her eyes softened at his dejected form. "We chose to fight, James, " she added in a mere gentle whisper.

"I know," he started in a pained voice, "But it's nice to get away from it all sometimes. Now that we don't have Hogwarts."

"I know," she repeated softly before nestling her head in his neck.

The sun was low as it began to set behind the sea, painting it a lustrous hue of orange and pink. James chuckled lightly as he heard her let out a low whistle of awe.

"Just you wait until it's dark," he told her happily as he surveyed her elated expression, "you can see the lights of France from here."

And sure enough, once the moon had bowed out the sun and painted the world a midnight blue, once they had walked as far as the stretch of sand allowed, the lights began to appear.

One by one they became clearer in the distance, illuminating the vast sea from such a long distance; shining beacons of hope all the way from Callais. They reflected in her eyes as she breathed in wonder, her hand reaching out to find his again.

And in that moment with the far away lights and the shadows of the white cliffs looming above them… in that moment they were protected. Encased in a wonderful, momentary yet wonderful, bubble of ignorance and bliss and safety.

Unknown to them, a clock chimed twelve somewhere near the border of Callais, marking the new years arrival. The sound, of course, did not reach them but even if it had, it would have gone unnoticed for the fact that the couple were engaged in the tightest lock of lips.

Unknown to them too, was the fact that it would be their last embrace untainted by urgent fear.


	7. Normal

**what is normal anyway?**

It is dark. The sky is blue and the streets are haunted as a fine breeze whistles along the empty roads and through an open window in their home.

She sits in an armchair, her red hair messy and her eyes, usually a bright green, are dim and empty. She shivers slightly, curling her fingers into the sleeves of her jumper as a heavy sigh escapes her lips.

Here she sits, Lily Potter, twenty years of age. Here she sits with lines on her forehead that have appeared twenty years early. Here she sits with the weight of the world on her shoulders and it shows on her face and in her posture.

The distant sound of a child's cry grasps her attention and she rises from her chair with another sombre sigh. She is stopped in her tracks by the gentle creaking of the floor above as a set of heavy footsteps make their way across a room. Then the low rumble of his voice as he cradles their child to sleep.

She sits back down wearily, her pale, thin face etches into faint relief. Her eyes travel to the patio door, surveying the cute and tidy garden which sits still, illuminated but the moonlight.

The garden is too tidy, too still, too untouched. Surely if they were a normal family and they lived normal lives, they would spend days together - herself, James and Harry - basking in the glorious sun as the little one pulled out tufts of grass and James burnt up a barbecue whilst she laughed at his sooty glasses and eventually saved the lunch.

Instead, they spend their days locked up, huddled in their home, prisoners in its walls. The pictures and furniture and curtains and every single aspect of their house is now a memorised blur in her mind. Perhaps it is driving her insane.

A shadow shifts in the garden and her stomach clenches tightly as she grips her wand before she can blink. But as she realises it was merely the shadow of a tree swaying in the wind, she laughs in incredulity.

For this is what they have become, prisoners jumping at the sight of shadows, paranoia and fear and tenacity infiltrating their day to day lives.

This is a day in the life under a dark reign, and what is normal anyway?


	8. Dear James

**dear james...**

There is a breeze that whistles through the creaks in the floorboards beneath our bed and it chills my feet and numbs my lips.

I turn over, tugging the duvet around my body as my eyes fall on the dent of the matress which has sunken into your shape, my hand trailing along the cold, hard pillow.

You've been gone for two weeks now but it feels like years. Every morning I wake up in this empty room and bustle about this empty house with no direction. Every moment of the day I spend lingering near the door or behind the curtain. But you don't return.

So every night I climb back into bed, cursing the Order for ever sending you on that blasted mission. I want you back, I want you next to me, I want to wrap my arms around your chest. I want to feel warm again.

And you don't know. You don't know about it. The little life inside of me, nestled in warmth and growing ever stronger as the days go by. I could have told you, James, I should have told you. But how could I?

I can feel it now, the little pulse of life, the beat of growth, it drums inside me rhythmically I want you to feel it too, to hold your hand to my small bump. I want to see your face, smiling and excited, regardless that there is a war, regardless that we're fighting, I want you to be proud of us both.

I can hear the bangs in the distance too, explosive sounds erupting through the clear skies. I wonder how many Muggles are resting in their beds right now, relaxed and content, falling into gentle sleep a midst the noise of what they think are fireworks. I wonder how many Muggle children are pressing their faces up on their glass windows, craning for a peak of colour as their breath fogs up the glass.

But me…I fall into broken sleep, hoping the next explosion doesn't involve you.


	9. Downfall

**downfall**

When your eyes meet with the ruin of the Potters' home, you don't know what to feel. When you take those careful, surprisingly grounded steps inside, you don't know what you'll see.

You have been hurt before, Sirius Black, but do you know how it really _feels? _Sure, you've been abused by your parents, outcast by your brother, hated by many, lost a few loves. But as your gaze rests on the lifeless form of your best friend - you realise that, for the first time, your heart truly cracks.

Tell me, is this the sound that the heart makes as it breaks? Like a slither of glass, shattering into jagged pieces of pain. The sound of a thousand guns shot, or a hundred bombs dropped, fails to come close to the sound of a broken heart resounding in your ears, pounding through blood and vein.

And is it meant to hurt this much? The force like a blow to the gut with an invisible, icy fist. It throws you over at first, it invades your lungs, cold and gripping and it tenses your body in inexplicable numbness.

But then it stops, it finishes. All the pain, the numbness, the sorrow, the invisible shards of glass pinching at your soul; it dissolves. And it is suddenly replaced with a force which surges through your body; hot anger, fury, rage, sickness, disgust, guilt. It simmers quickly, clouding your mind with thoughts of destruction and violence and revenge.

If only someone had been there, if only someone had grasped your shoulders and looked you in the eye and perhaps poured some cold water over your head, maybe you would be okay.

But then, in a cacophony of pain and nausea, you realise that someone is there. The ice to your fire, the calm to your storm, the clarity and light of your life; _he is there. _

But he is lifeless, unaware. He cannot help you, he cannot stand up and pat you on the back and give you a smirk and make things better.

Your ice, your calm, your clarity; it lays with him on that floor. And so perhaps that is why you ignite your fire, unleash the storm and flee into the darkness with the image of one little rat glaring in the embers of the blaze.

You are your own downfall.


End file.
